


One Week

by Wishful86



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Mischief, Plotting and Mystery, Time off, Trouble magnets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishful86/pseuds/Wishful86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artganan are given their orders by Treville. Now all they have to do is stay out of trouble for a week. That shouldn't be too hard, should it?</p><p>Well, lets see...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Normal

“What a glorious morning,” Aramis stated brightly, taking a seat beside Porthos at the table and raising his hat covered head to the sun. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the warmth beaming down on his face.

Porthos would have agreed with his friend’s statement but glancing back down to his plate he realised his bread roll had vanished. Sure enough a quick look d’Artganan’s way made it clear who the culprit was. The boy was chomping without a care in the world.

“You’re a slippery little bugger,” Porthos growled, “Just you wait.”

The Gascon merely grinned, “I’m utterly terrified.”

Porthos grunted in response but spotting the fact that Aramis was yet to touch his food, he reached across-

“Just you wait,” Aramis parroted as his hand shot out to prevent the theft. He lowered his head slowly with an eyebrow raised.

“On come on, you never eat that much,” Porthos argued.

Aramis pretended to deliberate for a moment before letting go of his friend’s hand and sliding his plate across towards him.

“Hang on,” Athos cut in mid-slide. He picked up an apple and threw it back at Aramis, “You’re eating something.”

Aramis rolled his eyes but obediently tucked into the apple anyway. Athos sent Porthos a pointed look but he just shrugged. Aramis ate when he ate. Porthos was no one’s mother.

“You four! My Office!” Came a familiar call from above.

Four sets of feet trudged immediately up the stairs. 

“Right, your orders,” Treville began, striding around his desk. He stopped abruptly however upon looking up at his men; one was eating. “What have I told you?”

“To leave breakfast at the table,” Aramis responded taking another bite of his apple, “I forgot.”

Shaking his head, Treville decided to leave that particular issue for another day. It was after all behavior like that which was leading him to have to do this; “Your orders are to make yourselves scarce. I mean it. I want you gone from the garrison. I will call you back if you’re needed but otherwise- I’ll see you in a week.”

D’Artagnan’s mouth dropped open slightly. Surely he hadn’t heard that correctly? He looked across at his friends for their reactions. Surprisingly, they seemed to be the complete opposite from his own. They appeared to have heard this before. 

“Oh come on,” Aramis threw his hands in the air, “Is that still necessary?”

“Yes,” The Captain nodded firmly taking a seat.

“It does seem a little harsh,” Athos stated, “but I am quite happy not to be here.”

“Well, that’s a surprise to no-one,” Aramis smirked earning himself a glare. 

“I don’t see why I can’t be here,” Porthos said ignoring the other two. 

Treville rubbed a hand down his face, “Because I’d rather everyone lasts at least one week.” He sounded like a man who had made this argument more than once.

“I’m sorry but what?...What?” d’Artagnan joined the conversation by gesturing his hands between them all in confusion.

Aramis swept to his side and put an arm around his shoulders with a squeeze, “We did a fine job with this new recruit,” he declared and d’Artagnan’s eyes went wide having still not got a clue what was going on. 

Treville rolled his eyes, “He’s hardly a normal case.”

The Gascon straightened and half shrugged Aramis off at that, “OK, now I don’t know whether I should be insulted?”

“The Captain does not think we should greet new recruits,” Athos finally explained as he took up his usual position of leaning against the wall. 

“Oh,” d’Artagnan furrowed his brow, “Why not?”

“Why not indeed?” Aramis repeated looking pointedly at Treville. 

Treville bowed his head before suddenly standing and marching back round his desk . He came to a halt in front of Aramis and pinched the half eaten apple from his hands.  
“Why not? Why not? I’ll tell you why not,” he brandished the apple and got very close to Aramis' face but then abruptly moved back and turned towards Athos, “Let’s start with Mr Sunshine over there.” He nodded to the older musketeer, “He messes with their heads. Likes to give out cryptic orders and then becomes irritated by the smallest of mistakes.”

“This is a serious business. I merely want them to learn,” Athos defended although he didn’t seem too bothered. 

“Mr Brute-force, here,” Treville continued gesturing to Porthos, “He likes to test their strength without holding back his own. I end up with a bunch of bruised, battered and quite frankly traumatized recruits that need piecing back together.”

 

“If they can’t hack it then they shouldn’t be here,” Porthos shrugged which made Aramis snort.

“And you,” Treville was up in Aramis’ face again in an instant, “I don’t even know where to begin with you.”

“Please do try,” d’Artagnan piped up. He was starting to enjoy this. The smile was wiped from his face however as the arm on his shoulder turned into a hand clipping his head.

“I’m nothing but welcoming,” Aramis tried to reason but his Captain snorted. 

Taking a step backwards, Treville shook his head then purposefully raised the hand with the apple in it, “Aramis, you regularly forget to eat, you regularly bend the rules, you are regularly reckless and...and...”

“You have a strange attachment to your gun,” d’Artagnan added gleefully when the Captain faltered. 

“And your hat,” Porthos finished giving his friend a pat on the arm. 

Aramis blinked, “Yes but I still don’t understand why I can’t greet new recruits?”

There was a collective groan and urge to punch. 

“The palace roof, “Athos stated plainly. 

That did it. Aramis’ shoulders dropped in defeat but there remained a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Ah yes. But that was fun.”

“The palace roof?” d’Artagnan was in the dark again.

“I’ll fill you in afterwards,” The older musketeer told him returning the arm around his shoulders.

“And that is why I want you away from the garrison,” Treville reiterated his order forcefully. This time there was no argument. Except one.

“Hang on, why do I have to leave?” the youngest musketeer questioned.

“Because you’re one of them now,” the Captain huffed but he couldn’t keep the smile from his lips despite his words, “Bloody nightmare the four of you.”

D’Artganan grinned, thrilled to be thought of as ‘one of them’ but he still wanted to know something, “And in a weeks time?”

Treville’s eyes held something wicked, “That’s when I unleash the nightmare and we separate the men from the boys. But I always like to give them a chance. Allow them a week of normal musketeering first.”

“What’s that like?” d’Artagnan mused humorously.

Aramis looked horrified by the very thought, “I hope I never find out.”

Treville chucked the apple back at him, “Don’t worry, you never will. Which brings me to my next order; stay out of trouble this week.”

“Permission to lock Aramis in his room then,” Athos only half joked.

“I fail to see why I always get the blame?” Aramis was affronted, “After all, you’ll drink and end up starting a fight. Porthos will gamble and end up starting a fight and d’Artganan...he’s a fight magnet.”

“I am not,” d’Artagnan didn’t do himself any favours by sounding like a petulant child. 

“At least, I never start fights,” Aramis concluded ignoring any protests. 

“Aramis, my dear brother, what happened last time we had time off?” Athos asked calmly.

The younger musketeer thought for a second and was overcome with a sheepish expression, “I had a holiday romance.”

“Aramis...” Porthos nudged him. 

“Fine, I was taken hostage by an angry husband.”

“And the time before that?”

A pause. “Now, that wasn’t my fault-“

“Aramis!”

“I was trapped in a sinking ship.”

“You were trapped in a-“

“d’Artagnan, don’t ask.”

“Alright, alright” Aramis called for them to stop, “You’ve made your point. I guess I don’t do normal living either.”

Treville clapped him on the back, “Promise me, this week, you’ll try. And to be fair,” he said with a knowing look at the others, “I could do with less fighting.”

“This week is going to be different. No, wait, normal. It's going to be normal,” d’Artagnan didn't exactly inspire confidence.

The Captain was praying the minute they left his office. 

...


	2. Day One- In the Calm (but maybe not the Quiet)

After leaving the office, Porthos and Aramis had immediately left to gather their things while d’Artganan sat back down at the table. He was at something of a loss. He had no idea where he was going to go for a week. He could hardly move back in with Constance.

Athos, who had stayed behind longer in the office to help with a report, was surprised to find the boy still there when he emerged. He watched him for a few minutes from the balcony before descending and deciding to see what was wrong. “Are you not collecting your things?” he asked. 

“Huh?” d’Artagnan lost as he was in his thoughts, didn’t hear the question. 

Athos frowned, “Your things? I know I’m a relaxed host but even I would like you to change your clothes this week.”

D’Artganan starred at him for a moment, “I can stay with you?”

The older musketeer smiled lightly, “Porthos and Aramis never ask.”

“We never ask what?” Porthos questioned as he and Aramis strode back across the courtyard carrying bags.

“Yes, what have we done now?” Aramis added then he noticed d’Artganan’s lack of belongings, “Where is your stuff?”

The Gascon didn’t have time to answer as Athos cut in with amusement in his voice, “d’Artagnan has been considering where he will be staying this week.”

“We’re staying at yours,” Aramis said like it was obvious, nodding at his old friend. 

Athos gave d’Artganan a look that made the young Gascon give a shy smile. d’Artganan should have known there would always be room for him. 

“Now, get your stuff before the Captain literally throws us out,” Porthos told the youngest gruffly. 

“And don’t think I won’t!” came a shout from above.

...

“This is cosy,” d’Artagnan stated, dropping his bags in a corner of Athos’s small room. 

“Just be glad one of us lives away from the garrison,” Athos responded. He took hold of a table and shoved it closer to the wall to make more space. 

“There’s plenty room,” Porthos argued, plonking down heavily in a chair. Athos’s place was practically a palace compared with some places in the Court. 

Aramis snorted, “You could sleep on a washing line.”

“True,” Porthos agreed, “You won’t have to worry, d’Artagnan. Some of us won’t need space to sleep here.” At d’Artganan’s confused face, Porthos expanded, “Aramis will have found another’s bed by tonight.”

“Ahh,” d’Artagnan grinned while Athos rolled his eyes. 

“No,” Aramis said firmly. He was pulling out books from his bag, “Not this time.”

Porthos shared a look with Athos, “Excuse me?” The latter decided to try for an explanation. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aramis stated seriously. 

“You’re not going-“ Porthos tried to cut in but Aramis sighed. 

“It appears everyone thinks that I am the troublemaker.”

“You are,” Porthos playfully smacked him on the arm but his friend ignored him. 

“So, in light of this, I am not leaving the building,” Aramis finished with a tip of his hat. 

The three other men didn’t quite know how to respond to that. Aramis merely carried on unpacking. 

“You’ll get bored,” Porthos ventured. This didn’t feel right; Aramis being sensible was wrong on many levels. 

“That’s why I have brought my books and my pen. I have been meaning to do more writing.”

Again the three men were at a loss and despite trying for a good ten minutes, they apparently couldn’t think of a good enough argument against their friend’s decision so decided to let it drop. d’Artganan didn’t think he would last but Porthos and Athos knew Aramis had a stubborn determined streak that made it hard to bet. Later they would agree; they thought Aramis would last a few days and then his need for action would take hold. For now though as he arranged his reading materials over the table, it looked like he was there to stay. 

“I’m going to get wine,” Athos announced surprising no one. 

Porthos rose to his feet and d’Artganan stepped forward. They all glanced back at Aramis who shrugged as he pulled up Porthos’ vacated chair. 

“Enjoy your fighting, gentlemen.” 

...

“He actually went up there?”d’Artagnan was wide eyed as his two companion’s filled him in on the ‘palace roof’ incident. As soon as they had reached the tavern and got drinks, d’Artganan had taken the opportunity to ask questions. Not having Aramis with them meant he was more likely to get a semblance of the truth. 

“He couldn’t not,” Athos stated, “Raimond was stuck.”

“Raimond was an idiot,” Porthos scoffed.

“Aramis should not have been playing truth or dare,” Athos defended the new recruit of old who never made it. 

d’Artganan shook his head, “Have to say, I’m with Porthos.”

The oldest musketeer rolled his eyes and took a swig of wine, “I’m surrounded by children.”

“Not anymore,” Porthos said rather sadly, pointedly looking at the empty chair at the table. 

“Yeah,” d’Artganan agreed, “It’s odd.”

Athos sighed, “I thought we agreed, he’d only last a few days. We’ll be intercepting careless behavior in no time.”

“I hope so,” Porthos’ said fondly. The wine was making him sentimental. 

d’Artganan started to speak but then stalled halfway through. It didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Go on,” Athos prompted. 

The Gascon glanced between them for a moment before finally deciding to have out with it, “We joke... but... has Aramis ever-“

“Yes,” Porthos interrupted with a knowing and tense nod. Athos put a hand on his shoulder and d’Artganan suddenly wished he’s stayed quiet.

“There have been times,” Athos started carefully but Porthos took over. 

“Aramis likes to feel alive now.”

D’Artagnan considered that statement and came to a conclusion, “Savoy?”

The other two men had a mixture of sadness and pride in their eyes. Savoy always brought about the sadness but the pride came because d’Artagnan had showed a deeper understanding; he truly was one of them now. 

“Savoy,” Porthos finally voiced confirmation. 

Silence settled over them. Each man left to consider their own demons. Until d’Artganan started to laugh, “I’m sorry, we’re acting as though someone has died. We’ve got a week off. We should be enjoying it.”

Porthos clapped him on the back, “Whelp’s got a point. Anyone fancy cards?”

 

...

There were to be no fights the first day. Or trouble of any kind. They all survived unscathed. Although one of them was not happy;

“Arghh! ” d’Artganan groaned burying his head in the make-shift pillow.

Porthos, Aramis and Athos snored on oblivious.  
...


	3. Day Two- Sailing Into Stormy Seas

D’Artagnan almost pounced the minute his friend walked through the door, ‘Ah! Buenos días, señor Athos. Cómo estás?’

Athos starred at him then moved around him to put the food down, “I see you have had a productive morning.”

D’Artagnan frowned behind him, “Learning Spanish is productive. Could prove useful if Aramis isn’t around.”

The older man turned to look at him again, “I agree.”

The Gascon’s brow knitted together, “I thought you were being sarcastic?

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“It can be hard to tell,” Aramis said patting a confused d’Artagnan on the arm. The comment earned him a withering glare off Athos but Aramis shrugged it off, “I have tried to teach Athos but he’s not the best pupil.”

This time it was Athos who shrugged, “As I have told you before; languages are not my forte. My father found that out when trying to teach me Latin.”

“Hmmm, Aramis says I have a flare for it,” d’Artagnan grinned proudly.

Aramis nodded and Athos tilted his head to consider the boy, “Then I think these lessons should continue.”

D’Artagnan looked hopefully across at his teacher who almost laughed at how eager he was. “I don’t see why not,” Aramis smiled.

“Gracias,” d’Artganan beamed.

Athos shook his head at the younger musketeer’s enthusiasm. He wasn’t so sure how long that would last when Aramis made him study Spanish grammar in depth. Although the boy probably had more chance than Porthos which in turn meant Aramis had less chance of being whacked over the head with several books.

“So...” d’Artagnan started shaking Athos out of his thoughts, “How was the market?”

“I didn’t see her,” Athos told him. He was always one to get to the point. 

“Oh...ok...ok...that doesn’t mean...that doesn’t mean anything? Does it?” d’Artagnan’s stumble over his words made Aramis’s heart break for his young friend but before he offered words of comfort, his older friend continued his blunt ways.

“It means she wasn’t at the market so I needn’t have gone alone,” Athos stated plainly as he began rearranging the food.

D’Artagnan’s shoulder’s dropped and Aramis sighed. Standing up from the table, he placed himself next to the younger man and gave his shoulder a squeeze, “It means nothing, d’Artagnan. She will be well, I’m sure of it.”

D’Artagnan nodded slowly feeling comforted by the words. Upon hearing the words of his brother, Athos realised his error, “Sorry, d’Artagnan,” he said, food temporarily forgotten as he too put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “but Aramis is right. She will be well.”

“I hope so,” d’Artagnan muttered sadly and the two other men shared a look behind his back. This time Aramis sighed a breath of relief when Athos correctly sensed the need of a change in conversation and asked the whereabouts of Porthos.

“He’s gone to visit Flea,” Aramis told him with a knowingly glance as he retook his seat at the table to clear up the remains of the impromptu Spanish lesson. 

“Ah,” Athos wasn’t surprised by the answer, “He’ll be back later then.”

“Oh much later I suspect,” Aramis chuckled. 

D’Artagnan tried to hold his tongue but the words spilled out anyway, “Are we ok with this?” He received only confused expressions as an answer to that question so expanded,“With Porthos. Seeing Flea?”

Athos narrowed his eyes slightly, “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“It’s just he’s...He’s going back there.”

“The Court was his home,” Aramis reminded him, “We can’t stop him.”

“Are we sure he’s safe?” d’Artagnan knew the others were right but he couldn’t help but think of last time. It seemed someone wanted him to stop however as they were all interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

Athos opened it and had a quick conversation with the person there. Aramis and d’Artagnan didn’t see who it was; they only saw Athos turn back into the room reading a note.  


“Who was it?” d’Artagnan asked first.

Athos glanced up from the note, “It seems Treville would like us to deliver some invitations for the King.”

Aramis rolled his eyes, “We’re only on day two.”

“Yeah, what happened to our holiday,” d’Artagnan moaned.

“It never was a holiday,” Athos stated plainly to the boy although it was hard not to be amused at how put out he looked, “Anyway, we only need ride to the outskirts of the city. We’ll be back before long.”

D’Artganan huffed but relented. He gestured to Aramis, “Are you coming or are you still not leaving the house?”

Aramis sat up a little straighter and flashed a determined smile, “I am staying right here.”

“It does appear that trouble hasn’t found this hiding place,” Athos mused.

d'Artagnan laughed, "It's your house. You should be glad of that." 

...

Porthos had had the very definition of a great day and with night falling as he exited the Court he decided that he would very much like to keep up this greatness. 

The day hadn’t quite got off to the best start though if he was honest. Athos didn’t really cater for guests so breakfast has been a mediocre affair. Then there was an argument about who would go and get more food with two of the men refusing to go to the market albeit for different reasons. It was at that point Porthos decided he would slip out, fend for himself and visit the Court. Visit Flea. Beautiful Flea. Yes, it had been a great day. 

His idea of continuing this great day led him to a tavern he had never visited before. It was further away from the garrison than the musketeers would tend to go and closer to the Court than most would like. 

He took a seat at an empty table for a while just enjoying his own company but then some action, in the corner of the room, sparked his interest and he was soon involved in familiar card play. 

Too familiar. It ended in the same way most of the games he played did. Porthos almost cringed to think what the others would say when the fight inevitably kicked off but those thoughts disappeared quickly as he dodged the bottles and fists aimed squarely at him.

“You’re a cheat!”  
“A cheating musketeer, no less!”  
“Lying, cheating scum!”

The shouts came in as thick and fast as the punches and although they were aimed at Porthos, the alcohol went a long way to explaining how other people had suddenly begun brawling with each other. It was a drunken chain reaction. Porthos continued to dodge them all swiftly and hastily made his way out in the night air. He didn’t dare stop anywhere near the tavern lest he get dragged back and not just for a fight but to be made to pay for the damage too. That had happened before and he certainly couldn’t afford it to now.  


He continued to walk purposefully down the backstreets not really seeing where he was going until he hit something mid-stride.

That something was now looking back up at him with wide, watering blue eyes. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Porthos exclaimed to the small girl, of about 4, blinking up at him from her half sprawled position on the floor. He glanced around quickly but the street was empty except for them so he knelt down to offer her a hand. This didn’t have the desired effect. The child started sobbing.

Porthos panicked. He didn’t cope well with children anyway, never mind crying ones. He tentatively reached out to try and be comforting but this only made the girl flinch backwards, “I want my mummy!”

“Ok, ok,” Porthos quickly retracted his arm and stood up again. This time he frantically searched around but there was still nothing and no one. He growled slightly. He looked down at the crying girl again and found he was horrified to notice she had grazed hands from where she fell. The decision was made then. He scooped her up and carried her to the one place he knew there would be help. 

...

The Paris night air was cool and refreshing and Aramis was taking advantage by sitting in the window. He was almost close to nodding off when the door crashed open followed by the sound of wailing. 

“Here,” was Porthos’s only utterance as Aramis, whose soldier instincts had had him up on his feet and alert within seconds, ended up with an armful of distraught child.  
Aramis narrowed his eyes at his friend over the girls head. He had already begun stroking her hair and bobbing up and down almost unconsciously. “Who is this?” he mouthed to Porthos who unhelpfully shrugged. 

“I may have accidently knocked her over,” he whispered back, “and I couldn’t find,” he lowered his voice even more so the girl definitely couldn’t hear, “Her mother.”

The girl was quietening; her sobs nothing more than mere hiccups. Aramis decided he would try and get answers out of her now so he carefully twisted her around and sat her on the edge of the table. In doing so he saw her grazed hands. “Porthos, will you get some water and a cloth please?” he asked the other man. Porthos cursed himself for not thinking of that straight away and went to fetch them immediately, pressing them into his friend’s hands. 

Aramis had knelt so that he was level with the girl. “Hello,” he tried softly offering her a warm smile. The girl risked peeking up at him beneath her long messy hair. 

“You’ve got a few grazes on your hands,” Aramis spoke gently, “I can sort those for you.”

As though only just realising she had hurt her hands, the girl raised and stared at them rather confused.

“Can I?” Aramis reached out to take hold of one hand and was relieved when the girl let him. His skilled hands had them clean in no time and the girl then used one to push the brunette locks out of her face.

“Ah, there you are,” Aramis joked lightly.

“I want my mummy,” The girl told him with a renewed wobble of her bottom lip. 

Aramis nodded sympathetically, “I know you do and we will find her but first we need to know who you are?”

The girl hesitated glancing between Aramis and Porthos, who had been quietly watching from the other side of the table, before giving an answer, “I’m Amelia.”

“Amelia,” Aramis repeated, “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Amelia. I’m Aramis. He’s Porthos. And we are the King’s Musketeers.’

He was hoping those last words would have had an effect and was pleased when they did. Amelia’s demeanor almost entirely changed; she looked directly at him with much less fear, “You’re a musketeer?” There was no denying the wonder in her voice.

“Indeed we are,” Aramis confirmed proudly.

“My daddy says Musketeers are the bestest and the bravest.”

Porthos smiled at that, “Your daddy is a wise man.”

Despite the positive comment, Amelia didn’t look too pleased that the man who had knocked her over had rejoined the conversation but it did serve to remind Aramis that he did need to have a word with his friend. 

“Amelia, I am going to have a little talk with Porthos. Why don’t you...” he glanced around and then found what he was looking for, “try wearing a Musketeer’s hat.” He plopped his hat down on her head and was warmed to hear a giggle from underneath the too big head-wear. 

Porthos reluctantly joined Aramis in the corner of the room for something he very much feared would resemble a debriefing in Treville’s office. He wasn’t wrong. Somehow in only a couple of minutes, his friend had managed to wring every detail out of him. 

“See!” Aramis hissed, “I knew you’d start a fight.”

Porthos groaned but then saw a way out, “There is no time for ‘I told you so’s, we need to get Amelia home.”

Aramis glared at him before huffing, “Don’t think I don’t know what you just did but you are right.”

Bang! For the second time that night, the door flew open. This time it was followed by a furious shout from a familiar voice. 

“Porthos du Vallon! I am going to kill you!”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I speak not a jot of Spanish so am sorry if I'm not correct in any way.


	4. Day Two continued: What's on the Horizon?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos bumping into Amelia may turn out to be very fortunate for Treville as some plotting is discovered...

“Child in the room!” Aramis warned loudly and in vain. He launched himself back towards Amelia so he could put his hands over her ears as Athos continued his rant towards Porthos. Athos wasn’t one for using bad language but he could get quite inventive with his threats. Currently Porthos was in danger of being skewered on a hot poker and left for rabid dogs. 

From what Aramis could gather, Athos and d’Artagnan, on their way back from Treville’s job, had happened upon the tavern Porthos had visited that same evening. Judging by the growing shiner on Athos’s eye and the bloody nose that d’Artganan now sported, they had been set upon by the drinkers seeking an outlet for their anger over the musketeer that had previously escaped. It hadn’t taken long for Athos to realise who the musketeer had been and although Porthos protested his innocence, Athos wasn’t letting him off lightly. 

d’Artganan had wandered into the house after Athos looking more traumatised than angry. The young man only sought out a wet cloth to stem the flow and then plonked down at the table. At the sight of d’Artganan bleeding profusely from the nose, Amelia had buried herself in Aramis’s chest. d’Artagnan noticed the child, raising his eyes questioningly at Aramis over the cloth as he tilted his head backwards. 

Aramis sighed, pulling one of his hands free from Amelia’s grasp, he used it to forcefully pull d’Artagnan’s head forward again, “Wrong way, you idiot.”

d’Artagnan groaned in response but lent forwards with his elbows rested on his knees anyway. 

Satisfied the Gascon was sorted, Aramis turned his attention back to the two men shouting on the far side of the room, “Alright, that’s enough!”

The tone brooked no argument. Athos and Porthos fell silent turning to look at the other man. Amelia whimpered against Aramis’s chest and he ran a soothing hand down her back.

Athos blinked at the sight of the child and tilted his head. The fury temporarily draining away to confusion, “What is going on?”

Aramis didn’t answer. He carefully and gently unfurled the upset girl and knelt down in front of her again, “Hey, hey, everything’s ok. These are just our friends.”

Amelia rubbed her teary eyes, sheepishly glancing at the man, “They’re scary.”

That made Aramis chuckle, “No, no, they’re not really. Athos was a little bit angry-“

“More than a little-“ Athos muttered unhelpfully earning himself a glare.

“-That’s all. And d’Artganan has got a sore nose but it’ll be ok.”

“Will it? Feels like it’ll fall off,” d’Artagnan stated, voice muffled by the cloth. He too earned himself a glare. 

“Are they musketeers?” Amelia asked tentatively. 

Athos had moved forward and he too knelt down, “Yes, we’re musketeers. Now...who are you?” He voice was soft and he gave Amelia a warm half-smile. 

The young girl studied the new man and then looked across as Aramis who nodded, “I’m Amelia. Amelia Defrain.”

“And what brings you here, Amelia Defrain?”

“Porthos bumped into me.”

Before that could be questioned too much, Aramis cut in, “We were just about to take Amelia back home.”

“And where is home?” Athos didn’t miss what Aramis had done but resolved that he could get answers later. 

Amelia screwed up her forehead, “We live in an inn. Dad say’s we’ll move soon.” Suddenly her expression changed and she was upset again, “They’ll be mad, I runned after the cat. I only wanted to stroke it.” So that explained why she was alone when Porthos had found her.

“Do you know which inn?” Athos used the back of his thumb to wipe Amelia’s fresh tears away and not for the first time, Aramis marvelled at how children brought out the softer side to his friend. 

“Er...There’s a picture of a rooster on the sign.”

“The Singing Cockerel,” d’Artganan deciphered, sitting up properly again and removing the soiled material from his face. 

Porthos nodded. “We were only a couple of streets away from there when...” he trailed off as Athos narrowed his eyes. 

Aramis noticed and rolled his. He nearly rolled them again when a frantic knock came at the door, “Who is this now? Busy evening...” He pulled the door open to find a stressed looking lady. 

“Can I-“ Aramis started. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late but- Amelia!” 

“Mummy!” Amelia hopped down off the edge of the table using Athos as a temporary balancing aid and then leaped across the room into the woman’s arms. The woman was crying and whispering ‘we we’re so worried’ and ‘don’t do that again’ into her daughters hair before she suddenly seemed to remember something and turned back out the door. 

“Jacques! Jacques! She’s here! I’ve found her!”

It didn’t take a minute for a relieved looking man to arrive and join in the hugging. When the hug started to break up, Amelia pointed across at the Musketeers who had been watching the family reunion patiently.

“Daddy, they’re Musketeers!”

Daddy, or Jacques, shook himself and followed his daughter’s finger. He hadn’t really taken notice of anyone else in the room until then. Upon seeing four men, two of which looked a little worse for wear, he wasn’t quite sure what to think. 

Aramis sensed this, “Good evening Monsieur, I’m Aramis. This is Porthos, Athos and d’Artagnan and we are indeed Musketeers.” He gestured at his friends in turn and put on his most welcoming smile. 

However, Jacques only had one question and he levelled it firmly, “What were you doing with my daughter?”

“Porthos found me,” Amelia offered but she was hushed by her mother. 

Aramis was also about to explain but Porthos grimaced and decided that it should probably be him. Thankfully, Amelia’s mum and dad didn’t appear to be angry and all concern vanished once they heard the story. Amelia helped by backing him up with little comments- “Aramis let me wear his hat!”- so they could tell she was happy and unharmed. They also realised that although it had felt like days since they realised their daughter had gone missing, it hadn’t actually been more than about twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of knocking frantically on the door of every house in the area regardless of the time. 

“I’ve never felt so scared,” Marie, Amelia’s mum, admitted as she took the wine offered to her. They had all gathered round the table after Porthos’s explanation and Athos had located the drink. 

“We haven’t been in Paris long,” Jacques told them. He was holding a now dozing Amelia in his arms. “It’s a big place.”

“Amelia said you were living in an inn,” d’Artagnan stated but the question underneath was evident. What had made them come to Paris?

Jacques sent a look across the table at his wife and she nodded knowingly. She rose to her feet and carefully took Amelia from him. She then turned to the musketeers, “Thank you for keeping her safe. I’m going to go now and put her to bed. It’s late,” She bent down and placed a kiss on her husband’s cheek and upon straightening again she sighed, “Please, help us if you can.”

“Help you?” Porthos asked but it seemed Marie wasn’t going to be the one to tell them. She said her goodbyes again and left with Amelia. 

Jacques was left sitting at the table running shaky hands through his hair. Athos filled up his wine glass and he smiled gratefully. 

“You need help?” Aramis implored.

Jacques did need help. He had only moved to Paris ten days ago and that was because he was concerned for his younger brother, Henri. It seemed Henri had decided to join the Red Guards. 

‘The Red Guards... Can you believe it? I know he is a good fighter. I thought he’s have the sense to join...well, you lot,’ Jacques sighed and swept his hand towards the Musketeers, “But no, no, he gets involved with Red Guards.”

“Not all of them are bad,” Aramis offered although he didn’t exactly appear confident in his own statement and Porthos couldn’t help but growl his disagreement. 

Athos had been listening and watching Jacques intently and knew they were yet to hear the whole story, “Joining the Red Guards may be far from ideal but I fear there is something you have yet to tell us?”

The intake of breath Jacques took signalled Athos was right and he proceeded to tell them how he felt relief at their chance meeting because he was struggling with knowing what to do; he thought his brother was involved in a plot to get rid of the Musketeer’s Captain. The reasons for this he was unclear of, but the demise of Treville is something he was certain he had accidently overheard. 

“What?” d’Artganan’s eyes were wide as he voiced the shock the others were all feeling, “They can’t do that!”

“I fear that is what they are planning,” Jacques looked across at them almost apologetically then he began to rise, “I really need to get back to my wife and child. It’s not safe out there.”

“Wait, you can’t leave, we need more detail,” Porthos argued gruffly. 

“I can come back tomorrow, “Jacques offered. 

Athos held Porthos off from arguing his point again. While he understood the need to know more about the supposed plot, he too knew that Jacques was right to want to leave, “Tomorrow, it will be. Be here as early as possible.”

Jacques nodded gratefully but then he turned serious, “Please, until then, don’t involve Henri in any of this; I don’t know for certain-“

“We will not talk to him, for now,” Aramis assured sharing a quick glance with his friends.

Aramis had chosen his words carefully. They wouldn’t talk to Henri but they would certainly start following him. 

After Jacques departed and day two bled into day three, four musketeers sank into the night to try and track down a suspicious Red Guard. 

And a certain Musketeer had completely forgotten his mission to stay safe inside the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who have reviewed so far. I apologise for gaps between updates; illness and a pile of uni work got in the way. 
> 
> I would say that I'm back on track but I actually go to Paris next week so...unfortunately I don't think I'll find any Musketeers. lol


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